


The Confession

by Laeviss



Series: Wranduin! [10]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: Anonymity, Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Dirty Talk, Flagrant misuse of a confessional, Glory Hole, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Male Character (Vague)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Shortly after his father's death, Anduin tries to cope by volunteering at the Cathedral of Light. Although he thinks Wrathion has abandoned him, he doesn't realize the dragon has been watching his every movement, waiting for the right time to make his presence known. A vulgar confession catches the king off guard.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin! [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756381
Comments: 18
Kudos: 126





	The Confession

_Normalcy_ wasn’t quite the word he would have used to describe it, but at least being back in the cathedral made Anduin feel like the person he used to be. The weeks following his father’s death and his subsequent ascendency had been…rough, to say the least. There had been days when he hardly wanted to lift his head from the pillow. 

Taking confessions might not be the most comfortable job in the church, but at least it was something: a moment of anonymity, of reprieve, and a chance to meet his people guarded only by the thin wall separating their booths. He intended to make the most of that time, straightening in the bench and willing himself to focus.

On the other side of the screen, someone continued to ramble. The spell cast on the divider stripped his voice of any distinguishing marks except the occasional hitch in his whisper.

“And then I walked right up to the fence and looked over, and there were five chickens, brother. Five of them. But I’ve only got four!”

Toying with a piece of gold thread hanging from his sleeve, Anduin listened. It was a fairly standard tale, much like the one he had heard two visitors before about a stolen bottle of milk. Nonetheless, he summoned his empathy and murmured, “It sounds as if there was some kind of mix-up, Josiah. I wouldn’t be so harsh on yourself.”

“That’s the thing there, brother! It was a mix-up. I’d never steal from anyone, by the Light. But my neighbor Joshua, he’s always on the lookout. If I come to his door with his prized black hen, he’s surely gonna think I…”

The man trailed off. Anduin waited, and, when he was certain the man was finished, offered a gentle: “Please don’t worry, Josiah. The Light only asks us to speak the truth. If you are truthful, you have done all you can do. The Light will bless your honesty.”

“…I hope you’re right, brother,” the voice rumbled. Anduin heard the other booth’s bench squeak and groan, deciding that the farmer must be at least a foot taller than him. The thought brought a faint smile to the corners of his lips, thinking surely no one would want to quarrel with such an imposing figure. 

Assured by this realization, Anduin nodded, then remembered he couldn’t be seen through the wall. “Yes, I believe I am,” he followed up, speaking with more confidence than he had felt in weeks. Reaching for the small window between them, he unlatched it, then started to ease it open. 

Careful not to reveal any details from his side of the wall—sucking in his chest and withdrawing his hand as soon as the door squealed open—Anduin prompted, “Please, give me your hand, and I will bless you. Let the Light strengthen you as you face this difficult challenge in your life.”

“Thank you, brother,” the man whispered. With the barrier between them breached, it was easier to pick out details in his voice. He spoke with a bit of a Westfall twang, and his lisp suggested he might be missing a tooth. As always, however, Anduin shook away those thoughts. Anonymous was anonymous, and he, more than anyone, understood the need for discretion. 

A thick hand pressed through the hole, and he rested his fingers atop it. Summoning the Light in his chest, he drew it out to their point of contact. He illuminated the room for a moment, and then they both lapsed back into darkness. After withdrawing his arm, the man cleared his throat and rose with a thud to his feet:

“Thank you, brother, truly. I’ll go tell my neighbor the truth.”

“Go in the Light, brother, and let it bless you.”

With that, he heard the adjacent door squeak and the man’s heavy footfalls disappear down the hall. Smoothing out his tunic and closing the window, Anduin readied himself for his next confessor. 

It took a few moments, but finally he heard the click of heels passing by his stall. The confessional door barely made a sound this time, though Anduin did pick up the soft shuffle of outer wear being removed. 

He folded his hands in his lap and waited. It was customary to allow the visitor the chance to open the conversation.

After a few moments, the visitor did, leaning back in his bench and murmuring, “Help me, brother. I have been plagued by…unwholesome thoughts.”

Anduin’s eyes widened slightly. He wasn’t supposed to be _curious_ when it came to confessions, but, well, he was only human. Straightening in his chair, he replied, as evenly as he could manage, “I know this might be hard to talk about, but if you could be a bit more specific, I might be able to help you. What kind of ‘unwholesome’ thoughts have been bothering you?”

“Oh, you know,” there was a lilt in his voice that struck Anduin even through the disguising spell: something about the turn of phrase, perhaps, that seemed familiar. He tried not to chase down the thought, and thankfully he didn’t have to try for long. The man continued, and Anduin felt his face growing hot:

“Sexual thoughts, as it were. Unbridled lust! The kind of thing that troubles your sleep and leaves you desperate for another man’s touch.”

‘Oh,’ Anduin thought to himself, pursing his lips. It wasn’t uncommon to hear this kind of thing, and, frankly, he took a much more open-minded stance on the matter than many of the senior clergy. Maybe it was best that this man came here, to him.

With that in mind, he replied, “You know, brother, those kinds of thoughts are natural. Please try not to be too harsh on yourself.”

“Hm,” the voice seemed to mull it over, though Anduin couldn’t shake the feeling he was pausing for dramatic effect. Finally, and with an audible sigh, he continued, “But you see, I am lusting for someone I shouldn’t desire. It is wrong of me, and yet here I am, with his face _burning_ in my mind.”

Anduin wasn’t sure why, but the way he said it made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t be seen, and yet it was as if the man knew his face was aglow. Shaking his head, and reminding himself how absurd that sounded, Anduin furrowed his brows and tried his best to focus.

“Someone you shouldn’t desire..?” He ventured a guess, “Someone who’s already spoken for, you mean? As long as you haven’t acted on it, that shouldn’t be—"

“No, no, nothing like that, or not yet, at least, Light willing.” Through the wall, Anduin picked up the swish of fabric and what sounded like the tink of bracelets knocking together. Once again, he chided himself for thinking too hard on it. He was supposed to be taking an anonymous confession! 

“No, no,” the voice murmured again, snapping him from his thoughts, “Nothing of the sort. He’s simply someone I shouldn’t be lusting over, and who I have very little chance to obtain.”

“Oh?” Anduin couldn’t mask his curiosity this time. He leaned forward on his bench and tucked back a strand of his hair. 

“Yes. You see…the object of my desire, my _need_ , even, is the High King.” 

Anduin’s body clenched. It felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs. As the blood drained from his cheeks, he swallowed, doing everything to fight through the shock. There was no way this man could know. He had entered the cathedral through a secret passage, and yet they had ended up here, together, with Anduin poised to take the confession or risk breaking his anonymity. 

When Anduin spoke again, it was in a small voice, but he was grateful he even managed that. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and his throat painfully dry. Clenching his hands together in his lap, he whispered, “The High King? King Anduin Wrynn?”

“The very one!”

Light, it felt so strange to speak his own name. 

The king wasn’t sure where to go from there, but he didn’t have to wait and wonder. His confessor jumped back in to explain, “There’s just something about him, you know? There’s a certain glow that draws me in, and when the light plays on his golden hair, I feel swept off my feet. It’s shameful, really, how smitten I am by him. You likely think me pathetic.”

“N-no,” Anduin managed, praying it sounded braver through the wall than it did in his darkened booth. Shifting, he unclasped his hands and used them to clench the wood on either side of his hips.

“No,” the king went on, after a deep inhale, “It’s not pathetic. At least, I don’t think it is.”

And it was true, he didn’t. As awkward as he felt, hearing the other man’s compliments brought him some kind of joy. Since ascending the throne, he had been scolded by Genn, fussed over by his serving maids, and disparaged by children playing in the streets. How long had it been since someone had paid him a genuine compliment? It would have been Wrathion, he realized, that final night as they stood side-by-side on the beach…

Biting his lower lip, he willed the thought from his mind. The last thing he needed was to be dreaming about _him_ right now. Tilting his head back against the wall, he cast a look towards the divider. On the other side, he heard the slight clicking of nails against wood. 

“I’m glad you don’t think ill of me, truly. I’m afraid I cannot help myself. I see his lips, and I think about kissing them, pulling him close and pressing our mouths together. That’s natural, too, I suppose?”

Anduin murmured in assent. He couldn’t say much else, as he had pressed his own fingers to the soft swell of his lower lip. Closing his eyes, he listened.

“And then there are his shoulders. Oh, how they’ve filled out! I would adore wrapping my arms around them and pressing our hips together. I wonder if he would rock into that contact. I wonder if I would feel the swell of his cock rub against my thigh.”

Anduin rocked forward. An indignant sound rose escaped him as he felt his cock twitch against the front of his linen trousers. Clearing his throat, he tried his best to mask it, but the noise only seemed to encourage his confessor’s tale:

“Too much? I’m sorry, _brother._ I just find myself carried away. He does that to me, you know. Whenever I imagine his cock pressing into my hand or see his beautiful face flushed with pleasure as I ride him, I am utterly swept away. But this is natural, yes? As you said yourself.”

“I—”

Anduin didn’t have time to finish. The other man cut him off, “Good. Yes. I suppose there’s no harm in dreaming, is there? No shame in appreciating our beautiful king. If only he would let me appreciate him more. I could show him how eager I am to serve, to submit to his will.”

It took everything in Anduin not to whimper at that. He reached down to adjust his erection, but the pressure only made him ache. The back of his head knocked gently against the stall, and he permitted himself a single gentle stroke. If he could only get this man out of here, maybe he could finish before the next parishioner arrived. All he had to do was bless him, say a few kind words, then he would be left to his own hurried relief.

At this point, however, the voice on the other side had grown relentless. While Anduin struggled to breathe, the confessor sounded emboldened: empowered. The king could almost hear his smirk as he leaned in and whispered:

“I keep thinking about a toy he used to have, a string of beads he acquired in Pandaria. I wonder if he still uses them on himself, if he thinks about the Black Prince pulling them out, one-by-one, with his lips wrapped tightly around him.”

“Ah!” A rush of feelings crashed over Anduin. His cock throbbed, and his jaw abruptly clenched. His cheeks felt hot and cold all at once, and his shoulder blades jerked his back upright. There was only one person in the world who knew about that. Either Wrathion had been spreading rumors or this— this was—

Anduin could barely process the thought. Reaching for the window, he gave it a jerk, and the spell between them wavered. A bit of red light seeped through the crack, confirming his suspicions. 

Yet the thought of calling him out, of saying his name, felt like a threat to the moment: he couldn’t be wrong, but what if he was? What if he had fallen asleep, and saying it would snap him back into wakefulness?

Frazzled but determined, he lowered his voice, and whispered the curtest thing he could think of: “Your hand, please.”

Rather than being put off by it, Wrathion chuckled with all his usual flair, “Of course.”

With that, a graceful hand slipped through the opening, its long nails catching a bit of light from the door. 

Rather than touching the top of it with his fingers, this time Anduin cupped both palms around it. 

“The Light will keep you strong,” he inhaled; the balmy scent of Wrathion’s cologne assaulted his senses, and he rested his forehead against the wall. It was all a farse, he knew, but he still said the words. At least they were one bit of normalcy left in this very abnormal reunion. 

“The Light will guide you and protect you and settle your troubled thoughts.”

“And bring relief, I should hope,” Wrathion cooed, sliding his nail along the inside of Anduin’s wrist. 

The king trembled, the contact sparking his nerves to life. His pants felt impossibly hot, and though it was barely spring, the cathedral suddenly grew sweltering. 

Tightening his grip on the dragon, he leaned forward. Wrathion repeated his caress once, then again, while whispering, “I often want to have him in my mouth again, you know. I want to know how he’s grown, to test if he still whimpers when he’s close to release. Do you think he would be interested in that, as well? It must be hard to relax, with the weight of the kingdom thrust suddenly upon him.”

Anduin couldn’t even answer, couldn’t even piece together the words to convey how he felt about that. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. 

“You know, I think it’s time you let me bless you. Put yourself through this hole, and I will show you how I hope to serve the High King.” 

The suggestion was so unbelievably brash, so lewd, that if he had any lingering doubts who was on the other side of the wall, he didn’t anymore. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, for reason after reason. That didn’t stop his cock from begging for release, or his hand from shaking as it rested against Wrathion’s smooth, dark wrist. 

Anduin shook his head and lowered his gaze. His chastisement wasn’t for Wrathion, but for himself. He knew what he was about to do, and he admonished himself for doing it. That didn’t stop his lips from forming the word that burned on the tip of his tongue:

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes.” With that, Anduin let out a long exhale, shifted his weight until he kneeled, and released his hold on Wrathion’s hand to steeple his fingers, instead, against the wall. 

The front of his pants pressed against the opening, catching a gust of warm air that must have come from Wrathion’s mouth. The contact made his lower body stiffen. Any pain he felt at kneeling was quickly forgotten as Wrathion reached for the front of his pants and caught the ends of each lace between his fingers. 

His nail scratched against linen and traced along the bulge tenting his pants to the left of his fly. It took a moment or so before Wrathion got the trousers open, and then he was relieved: freed from his confines and swept into the heat of the dragon’s palm. 

Tilting forward against the wall for support, Anduin moaned, slightly more daring than he would have hoped. 

He felt the dragon’s hand cup him, his nails trailing along the underside of his shaft as he coaxed him through the hole. Arching his back, he thrust into that contact, earning a murmur of approval and a few curls of smoke that escaped through the opening. Anduin swallowed. This time, he pursed his lips to muffle his gasp, but he nearly failed when Wrathion’s fingers rubbed against his head.

It had been so long since Wrathion had touched him—and since he had touched, even—that he twitched at even the slightest contact. Biting his lip, he pressed his head against the wall, stuffing one hand into the corner of the booth while the other fumbled for something to hold on the other side. 

Just as he found a lip at the corner of the window to grasp, there was another puff of heat on his skin, and then something wet twirling around his head. He nearly lost his hard-earned grip as his hips bucked forward. From the other side of the wall, there was a chuckle, then a single long nail tracing over him from head to base.

“Now, now, try not to get too excited,” the dragon teased, “I wouldn’t want this to end too quickly, lest my penance be deemed _insufficient_.”

On any other day, Wrathion’s remarks might have made him roll his eyes, or stiffen at his disregard for the church and its practices. With Wrathion’s lips ghosting against his skin and his tongue tracing the line of his slit, however, the words made him tremble and gasp.

Satisfied, Wrathion hummed in approval. The vibration raced down Anduin’s cock and settled in the depths of his lower abdomen. Everything tightened. Again, he had to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out. His nails dug into the wood between them and his brows furrowed, and he pressed his face almost painfully against the wall.

He felt a pair of soft lips wrap around him, and then a wetness and heat sucking him in, sliding down until the dragon, too, bumped his nose against wood. At first all Anduin could feel was that pressure, so welcome after the teasing the dragon had done. Soon other details started to come into focus: his tongue rolling under his base, the slight knock of his teeth as he tilted his head to get deeper, and what felt like the tickle of a mustache brushing along his now-wet skin.

‘That wasn’t there before,’ Anduin thought as he squeezed close his eyes. He wondered how much else had changed: how Wrathion had grown and developed in the two years they’d been apart. 

On the other side of the wall, he heard the dragon shift his weight. There was a soft ‘thd’ like a foot hitting the floor, then the rustle of fabric and laces, then a creak as the dragon leaned forward and swallowed him again. Even caught up as Anduin was, he could almost see Wrathion plunging his hand into his own pants and rutting desperately against his fingers. 

It might have been two years, but some things, at least, never changed. Anduin smiled. His placid look soon wavered, however, when the dragon moaned against his skin and sent heat pooling beneath the base of his shaft.

Everything tightened. Anduin’s nose bumped against the wall, and then his back arched, desperate the plunge deeper into the dragon’s heat. He would have rather not whimpered, but he couldn’t hold back. With his eyes clenched and his fingers trembling, he fought to keep his lower body from thrusting to its release.

Rather than being met by approval for his efforts, he heard the dragon chuckle, and felt him lap coyly at his head. “Now, now,” he murmured, “Try not to get ahead of yourself. We wouldn’t want to make a mess of the stall, now would we?”

“N-no,” Anduin admitted through clenched teeth. Slowly, he relaxed his face, and drew in a breath meant to stabilize him. The details of his body started to come into focus: his flushed cheeks and labored breaths, and the way his hair clung to the sweat at the base of his neck. 

He had to get a hold of himself, lest this rare moment with Wrathion be squandered. He had no idea what would happen after the dragon left his stall. Resolved to cling to the moment as long as he could, he dug his palm into the wall and the toe of his shoes into the bench, leaning in, and yielding, once more, to the dragon’s touch. 

He felt a hitch in his breath, the gentle caress of his nails, and then his lips wrapping around him. He drew in a breath, once again finding the dragon’s scent, and memorizing it. As Wrathion slurped at him, he clenched his jaw, and when his beard brushed against his skin, he grabbed anything he could reach to keep his knees steady on the bench.

Wrathion was relentless and wanton in his moans. If not for the cock pressed against his tongue, they surely would have been overheard. As it was, every cry and gasp raced across Anduin’s skin. When he slid back, Anduin felt wet and exposed, and when he leaned in, Anduin wanted nothing more than to lose himself forever in his heat. 

Anduin’s trembles turned to shudders, and the murmurs vibrating on his skin started to settle and build deep inside him. His balls tightened, and his lower back ached as it begged to rock forward. Every detail, every groan and quiver, suddenly came into focus, and then he felt hot, so hot, from the base of his shaft to the flush at the nape of his neck. 

He jerked. His forehead bumped against the wall, and then he moaned, in a voice that hardly sounded like his own, a ragged, “Wrathion…”

The dragon swallowed around him, and then he throbbed once, then again, against his tongue. A wave of euphoria washed over him, and then relief as all the tension unfurled and he released against the back of the dragon’s throat.

Anduin bowed forward. He turned his head to rest his cheek against the wall. Dimly, he heard the dragon fumbling again, his bracelets jangling and his breath hitching as the entire stall squeaked and groaned. There was a soft cry, and then the two boys lapsed into silence. 

Finally, he felt Wrathion lean back, readjust his clothing, and rise slowly to his feet. Anduin’s wet—and now softening—cock still rested against the window, but he couldn’t find it in himself to withdraw it, even as a gust of cool air slipped in with the swinging of the door.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Should he beg Wrathion to stay, chastise him for coming like this, or scold him for daring to show his face in the city at all? Should he ask how he knew he, badger him about the watch he was most certainly keeping over the king and his activities?

Should he tell him how desperately he had missed him, all those hours he spent curled on his father’s bed with sobs wracking his body? 

He tried, but his voice wouldn’t come. His throat felt tight and his tongue heavy against his dry lips. With not so much as a word, the dragon pulled on his cloak, slipped out through the door, and disappeared down the hall.

And by the next day, Anduin wasn’t sure if any of this had happened at all.


End file.
